All The Names You Never Had
by Emerald Embers
Summary: Baze Malbus was never very good at remembering names. Even when he liked the person that name belonged to. Even when he liked them a lot. And someone like Chirrut deserves a lot of nicknames. Written for sapoeysap for the 2017 spiritassassin exchange.


Baze Malbus had never been good with names.

Not because he disliked using them, or because he disliked the people whose names slipped his mind, but simply because he rarely remembered them.

Baze simply remembered people by the context in which he knew them better than by their names. Names lacked description, and he had always known his family by their titles rather than their names - aunt, uncle, mother, father.

It was both fitting and a little frightening that if he had remembered Chirrut's name from the start, he might never have taken the steps past befriending him into loving him and being loved in return.

And as much as Chirrut sometimes teased him for needing reminders, Baze knew Chirrut was flattered by the method Baze most often used for remembering his name.

That method was responsible for their first kiss, after all.

.

When Chirrut first showed up on the temple's grounds, Baze took little interest. In those years, initiates passed through the temple in their dozens, returning to their families as soon as they were old enough to run a farm, marry a partner, or take the place of siblings whose death or emigration had left a hole to be filled.

Serving the temple was an honour, but training as a Guardian took both determination and patience; Jedhans were well known for the former trait, but rarely for the latter.

Long stays were rare, and Baze struggled enough to keep the names of his friends straight without adding more to the list. It didn't help that three of them were Rooks. Context served his memory better than names.

Chirrut Îmwe was just another kid amongst many other new kids, regardless of only being a year younger than Baze, and therefore New Kid would have to suffice for a name until Baze knew something better to distinguish him by.

.

Much of Baze's time was spent in the temple's library, copying out texts, caring for fragile scrolls, and repairing damaged datapads. The slow, quiet work suited his nature, and he had loved tinkering with electronics ever since he was a child.

It wasn't unusual to have initiates and masters alike turn up in the library with old or damaged datapads, politely requesting that Baze repair them without paying too much attention to their contents. More often than not, Baze accepted the requests; personal items were discouraged within the temple, but not subject to any official ban, and sometimes a few minutes' work would leave another person happy for days on end.

His first conversation with Chirrut outside of a classroom was over one such request, though at the time Baze had still thought of him as New Kid.

New Kid had stopped in front of him in the library, handing over a datapad with a sheepish expression, its surface cracked.

"I can't see how bad this is, but Master Lamm said if anyone could fix my mistake, it would be you."

Baze assessed the damage, nodding to himself; the cracks were widespread but shallow, and Jedha's cold, dry autumn made it unlikely that moisture or heat would have reached the exposed innards. "Your mistake, hm?"

"I threw it," New Kid said, shrugging. "My aim was fine, my friend's catch wasn't."

Baze looked up at New Kid, laughed despite himself, and said, "I'll see what I can do," renaming him Datapad Tossing Fool.

It was a name Datapad Tossing Fool happened to share with three other initiates, and one master.

.

Excepting the day Baze returned Datapad Tossing Fool's newly fixed datapad to him, they scarcely encountered each other save for brief exchanges in courtyards or when walking the same direction in corridors.

It took until spring and a shared shift in the temple garden for them to spend any real time together, the quiet morning made remarkable when Datapad Tossing Fool grabbed Baze's wrist to prevent him from using his shovel.

"Wait!"

Baze shook his hand free but waited as commanded, watched as Datapad Tossing Fool knelt to dig through the soil with his fingers.

Of all the possible outcomes from such digging, Baze could honestly say he had not expected Datapad Tossing Fool to pull a frightened but very much intact and alive mammal from the soil with his bare hands.

"I knew I'd heard her. I always had a soft spot for these," Datapad Tossing Fool said before walking away, keeping the fiercely wriggling creature safe in his grip until he could set it free in a less active corner of the garden.

Datapad Tossing Fool became Gentle Fool in that instant.

It was also the first time Baze really noticed that Gentle Fool was beautiful.

.

Temple life didn't permit a lot of idle socialising, and Baze had never been much of a gossip anyway, but it was impossible to watch a blind person dig a live, fist-sized mammal out of bare earth and not want to know more about them.

Trying to learn more about Gentle Fool quickly taught Baze that he spent nearly as much time cleaning dishes or sweeping the courtyard as Baze spent in the library, largely as punishment for non-violent misbehaviour.

Baze couldn't say he was surprised at that, when his first encounter with Gentle Fool came from his throwing a datapad at someone too slow to catch it.

More of a surprise was how Gentle Fool had a habit of singing loudly and terribly to himself while carrying out his punishment duties, regardless of the time of day he had been set those tasks, and occasionally earning himself further punishments as a result.

.

It wasn't difficult to get assigned another shift working alongside Gentle Fool, spring's dust storms painting the courtyards red and demanding someone take care of the mess with a broom.

Baze had to marvel at just how terrible, albeit enthusiastic, that singing was when heard in person.

Someone other than Baze might have found that off-putting. Baze found it delightful.

At the end of their shift, covered head to toe in red dust he looked forward to showering off in a sonic, Baze received a sudden, sharp smack in the chest from Gentle Fool's broom handle, and looked up to a grin telling him it was no accident.

"No," Baze said, and Gentle Fool prodded him in the abdomen with the handle.

"The great Baze Malbus, turning down a challenge? What is this galaxy coming to?"

Baze blocked a third jab with his own broom handle before taking a step back, shifting his grip on the handle to something more appropriate for sparring. "I try not to hurt striplings, but for a fool like you, I could make an exception."

Gentle Fool's grin turned gleefully malicious, and the battle began in earnest.

.

Troublemaker seemed a fitting name, after that. Especially when Baze was forced to hand over the irreparable remains of their brooms, and had additional kitchen duties assigned to him as punishment.

"We must stop meeting like this," Troublemaker said when he turned up to take over from Baze's shift washing dishes, "People will talk."

Baze groaned at the cliché before tossing the sodden dishcloth at Troublemaker. "Is there a single cliché you don't love?"

"A few. I could list them, if you like."

Baze just about managed not to grin, but had to let out a snort of amusement through his nose.

Tempting as it was to leave the conversation at that, Baze also knew it was time to swallow his pride. "I have to ask - what is your name?"

Troublemaker cocked his head, expression curious, and more confused than offended. "Chirrut. How long have we lived under the same roof?"

"Not long enough," Baze said, before flushing red and selfishly hoping Chirrut could not sense his embarrassment at what the words implied.

Even if the sentiment was true.

"Pleased to meet you, Chirrut."

"And you, Baze," Chirrut replied before busying himself with the dishes.

.

Whatever game they had been playing together ended several weeks later during another shift working in the garden, courtesy of Baze rolling up his sleeves and forgetting the reason why he had left them hanging around his wrists in the first place.

As much as he would have liked to imprint Chirrut's name on his memory, Baze knew he would need far more practice before he could trust himself to remember.

And it was easier to practice when he had Chirrut's name scrawled on his inner wrist.

One of the other initiates had looked over, loudly asked what Baze had written there, and when Baze immediately pulled his sleeves back down, Chirrut had grown curious.

Another playfight would have meant dishes duty for a fortnight, so Baze told Chirrut the truth and held out his wrist, unsure if Chirrut could feel the difference between inked skin and unmarked skin.

"I can never remember names," Baze said, apologetic, and wishing Chirrut would laugh or frown or at least _react_ instead of just rubbing his thumb across Baze's wrist, his face unreadable.

Chirrut finally let go of Baze's wrist to grip the front of Baze's robes instead. "I'm going to kiss you. Now. If you let me."

Baze let him.

.

Baze let him several times, in fact.

.

Several months down the line, Chirrut joined the ranks of the rare few Baze could recall the names of with ease. Several years down the line, Chirrut became the only person whose name was imprinted on Baze's body permanently, first in the form of ink on Baze's wrist, then in the form of raised dots around that ink to make it something they could both appreciate.

Baze never quite got the hang of names, though.

.

 _I'll get the pilot._

 _He has the face of a friend._

 _Good luck, little sister._


End file.
